One of the guidelines they teach you in preaching school is not to use an illustration that is more powerful than the theological point you are hoping to make. Bearing that guideline in mind, it is with some trepidation that I mention hockey.
Hockey. Or more specifically, Chicago’s celebration of hockey. The city’s overwhelming celebration of the Blackhawks and the urge to be a part of that celebration. If you have not felt at least some little urging within to join the celebration… if you have not wanted at least a little to share in the joy or felt a smile on your face or a lightness in your heart, then you must be either the tin man with no heart or a truly self-conscious insufferable snob. And I know none of you will publicly admit to being either of those. Over the last few days everyone I have run into, young or old, from Orchestra Hall to the streets of Flossmoor has wanted to talk about the Blackhawks. I have felt the urge to claim a share in the celebration. I’ve been tempted to buy a T-shirt! I’m really not much of a hockey fan, but I’ve wanted to share the news with friends all over the country. The yearning to share in the celebration seems almost universal. And it is for all of us to share. You do not have to qualify or earn the right to celebrate. The celebration is ours.
The early Hebrew people had a sense of shared life that is almost impossible for us to comprehend or experience in the highly individualized world in which we live. They experienced life in common. Not as a group of individuals with similar experiences or beliefs, but as a group that literally shared life. The joy of one was actually felt, experienced, shared by all.
I think we come close to that experience this week. It is more than appreciating or understanding or valuing what this event means for others. It is the urge to actually be a part of the celebration. It is the feeling of joy rising up even in people who have never had any interest in hockey or followed the Blackhawks before. The Tribune said, “Even if you don’t know what icing is, it is your celebration.” Incidentally, I do know what icing is. You can’t live in Maine without absorbing at least some hockey. For heaven’s sake, Lyric Opera of Chicago is posting pictures of the parade and calling themselves “ground zero for the Hawks celebration.” Lyric Opera! The opera house is located at Washington and Wacker, the official starting point for the ticker tape parade. The celebration is all of ours.
It is odd, perhaps, that hockey enables us to experience one of God’s greatest gifts: communion. It is God who connects us to one another. It is the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that enables us to share the joy and exuberance of one another. Communion. Life lived in common, shared, even with people we may not know or may not imagine we are similar to. Communion. Shared life.
You don’t have to earn the “right” to share in Chicago’s celebration. In communion, the joy of one really is the joy of all. I hope that long-time Hawks fans don’t feel any resentment towards the rest of us as we join in the celebration. They shouldn’t. In communion no one has a proprietary claim on any experience. No one can exclude any one else from the life that is shared. The joy is ours.
But here’s the thing. A life shared in common, lived in communion goes both ways. The joy of one truly is the joy of all. The responsibility of one is also the responsibility of all. Just as surely as we all have a part in the Stanley cup celebration in Chicago, we all bear the guilt for the oil belching out onto the beaches of the Gulf. The early Hebrew people understood this, too, that guilt was shared. It is very hard for us to accept. We might be able to wrap our heads around an experience of shared joy, but not shared guilt. We are much better at assigning blame than accepting guilt. The root cause of the disaster in the Gulf is our society’s addictive demand for petroleum. We are that society. We are in communion as that society. We share life in common as a community addictively demanding ever more petroleum. We share guilt for the consequences of that demand.
Among the individuals gathered here today, some are undoubtedly more intentional than others at being stewards of God’s creation. Some work harder than others, as individuals, at conserving or preserving our natural resources. That’s important, but it is only one piece of the picture and (odd as this may sound) is not relevant to my point today. Even the most dedicated individual environmentalist shares in our common responsibility and guilt. Just as no one can tell me that I don’t have a share in the Blackhawks celebration, I cannot tell someone else that they bear the exclusive blame for the Gulf oil spill. In communion, one person’s joy is the joy of all. In communion, one person’s guilt is the guilt of all.
A recent post on the blog of the Christian Century is titled “Lamenting our oil addiction.” It’s by Steve Thorngate, a Lutheran on the staff of the Century. He writes:
While BP and the federal government plug away at trying to plug the oil leak, the rest of us feel pretty helpless. What’s a citizen’s response to this sort of disaster? What’s a Christian response?
There’s a lot of talk about organizing against BP, and I agree with Rose Berger that some strong punitive measure is in order. It’s also tempting to blame conservative ideology in some way, but as Dave Allen points out, that dog won’t necessarily hunt: “The relevant question is not whether you own a copy of Atlas Shrugged; it's whether you own an automobile.” Or fly in airplanes, buy things made of plastic and/or transported from far away, eat factory-farmed food or burn paraffin candles. While business and government must be held accountable for their reckless behavior, we’re all complicit in our culture’s addiction to oil.
He reminds us that the root cause of the spill is our culture’s addiction to oil. And, individually, we are all complicit in that addition. Not only as an aggregate of individuals who demand and squander petroleum, but as part of a community, a communion of human beings that demands exploitation of petroleum. Even if you as an individual have never bought a single baggie, you share life with an American culture that uses12 million barrels of oil a year to produce 100 billion single-use bags (Worldwatch Institute, reported by NCC Eco-Justice Program).
I have to quote John Donne. Donne was an Anglican priest and poet. You’ve probably heard these words. “No man is an island, entire of itself.” There is no such thing as isolated individuality. We cannot isolate joy or guilt within a single human being. There are no impermeable barriers separating the children of God. “Everyman’s death diminishes me,” he says. He doesn’t say, “I grieve each person’s death,” or even, “I feel the loss of each person’s death.” He says he is actually diminished by another’s death. In communion, death is shared. When one person dies, our common life is diminished. A part of each of us dies. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”
So what is the Christian response to the oil disaster? We do need to do the best as can as individuals to lessen our demand for oil. All of us could do much better. That seems a moral imperative, regardless of our Christian faith.
As Christians I think we are called also to witness to the reality of the communion we share. We must claim and proclaim the shared life that we have with one another. Our experience and our faith teach us that God’s Spirit connects us in a common life.
How do we express our witness? On a lighthearted note, go out and buy those Blackhawk Stanley cup T-shirts. Especially if you don’t have a clue what icing is. We are indeed bound together in shared celebration.
And with respect to the oil disaster: Repent. Publicly and repeatedly repent. For two reasons. One, to proclaim to the world that this more than a horrendous accident or a moral mistake; it is a violation of God’s creation. Our inordinate demand for oil is an abuse of God’s goodness and abundance. Second, repent as a sign of our communion, as a manifestation of our common life. Whether you drive a hybrid or an SUV, repent. Whether you reuse and recycle or really never thought about it, repent. The fact that we are in this together is a powerful and positive sign to the world. God’s gift of communion is full of life and hope. And our shared repentance proclaims that communion. And work for social transformation. Part of repentance is amendment of life. Work to amend and transform not just your individual practice, but our common life, too.
We are all guilty. Repent.
